MWC And JNH Equals Love
by wrestlefan4
Summary: A oneshot I found when going thru old files. To me, this was my best ffic ever. I thought I'd lost it! Taker and Jeff.


MWC+JNH=Love

Among the gray ashen faces of tilted rock, giving name and date to the death below, the cold wind shuddered. Under the damp cool ground the lids of many caskets creaked playing lullabies for the worms who nibbled away at glimmering bones taking death and returning it to earth where it would regenerate life. The trees around the graveyard like bony soldiers stood their naked black arms scraping at the charcoal-smudged heavens.

Through the tall grass and bending weeds two feet crept silently like ghostly entities gliding silently over the dead but never disturbing. As the wind picked up and forlornly cried his long midnight coat whipped around his legs and flapped like a gothic banner. He set his eyes, orbs of stormy green, to the task ahead and moved on no more than a whisper against the night.

The leaning grave markers grew older as his footsteps traced further into the bone yard, their faces worn away from the erosion of time, the meaning raped away from them by the thieving wind and rain. At last these too receded and taking their place the spindly, spidery trees grew thicker standing closer and closer in groups, their branches like gnarled fingers scratched together and their sound was like the rattle of dry bones. The teen pressed onwards, his boots sticking in mud and crackling twigs, the trees drawing in closer and closer shutting out the pale faced beacon in the midnight sky.

His feet trudged on growing heavier and heavier caked with mud. He found his way through thickets of bramble, catching and clawing at his jeans and the tail of his trench coat, tearing and taking. His toes caught on ensnaring roots, like gripping, gnawing, claws they reached for him and sent him sprawling once or twice. Each time he picked himself up with not so much as a hint of pain as his hands scraped raw and bled. He only moved on and around the trees that watched him make his passage.

Abruptly they gave away to a long deserted field. Broken stalks of corn poked up from the blackish mud ready to impale stumbling feet. He just wove his way through keeping his eyes on the single tree that stood in the center, spiraling up towards the sky like a sorcerers' tower, its barky arms twisted and deformed, devoid of any leaf or bud. His feet dragged onwards at last he reached that one solitary being and gazed up at it, awestruck and angry. He panted to catch his breath and whipped away the sweat and tears that slicked his pallid face, with a quivering hand he brushed his auburn hair away from his forehead. From a higher branch a beast of the night watched tentatively, its glowing yellow orbs flickered at him and its head twitched from side to side looking wise and thinking. It gave an eerie 'whoo' before stretching its wings in an enormous span of dappled feathers and soared away on the cool currents of the night time air.

The boy leaned against the tree. He touched the rough, ragged, bark gently and even lovingly his fingers barely daring to caress it. Among the scabby epidermis of wood was a scar that he had carved there when he had once enjoyed the sun. Now the light only reminded him of happiness he had lost away to pride, so instead he took solace in the darkness. His fingers traced that bitter scar, and salty drops traced down his cheeks.

He closed his eyes remembering when he and his beloved sat curled in the great tree roots, two lovers nestled in natures arms, and felt each twitch and tingle of virgin lovers lips. If the roots could feed from the energy there and regurgitate it once again, then maybe he could steal back the moments of what had passed away. But all he saw was a blackened heart etched into woody flesh.

He pulled the knife from his pocket and griped it firmly in his hand. The tip of the blade bit harshly, drawing syrupy blood from the heart. One slash then another marred the letters that had been carved there. He left the blade stuck in the tree and hoped to leave the pained memories as well. Mark turned away and trudged back, more alone than when he had came.

*****

The young man paced his room in indecision. Halloween, the anniversary of loves first blossom, but now the blossom had withered like a corpse left in the sun. He was done up like a zombie but since the paint had smeared. He was to go out with his older brother and spend a night causing chaos via rolls of toilet paper, soap, and eggs. There were pumpkins to be smashed, their seedy orangey brains to be splattered over pavement and porch steps. There were windows to be soaped, eggs to become scrambled against unsuspecting siding, and of course the best of all, the TP. But none of it seemed to matter. Laughter was not suited for his ill mood but better were the tears that were partly to blame for the ruining of the face paint his brother had worked on so diligently.

He ran quaking hands through his hair, still stuck on his own indecision. He stopped at his dresser and yanked the top drawer opened and rooted among his socks, mismatched and orphaned, to pull out a pack of stolen cigarettes. He shook one out and hung it between his lips and paced to the window before lighting it. He narrowed his eyes out at the moon, its pale face reminding him of another. He flattened his palm against the cool glass of the window as though he could touch the face of the moon which was so far beyond his reach, just as was that other ghostly countenance that he had come to love so much.

He sighed and the warm smoke drifted outwards caressing the panes of glass. He chewed on his writhing lips wearing the enamel of his teeth against the lip ring he had given himself, pierced with a safety pin. At last he tore away from the window and found his coat on his bed along with a bunch of blood colored roses. His heart had overtaken his mind and made the decision his thinking organ had refused to.

Slipping quietly out of the house he walked with purpose down the sidewalk. His strides quickly and deliberately taking him to a destination where he would either win or lose this thing he dared to call love. His green tiger-like eyes set hard in determination and bit the darkness. His lips twitched as the plan unfolded itself like a morbidly beautiful angel unfolding her raven wings. He uncaringly flicked the ash from his cigarette at the masked and painted children as they scampered by. Their laughter floated and sang on the cool waves of this bewitched night.

He made his way to the top of the hill where the oldest and largest house sat like an ogre staring down. The sign outside read in fading letters Calaway Funeral Home and in the winding drive sat an antique hearse ready to ferry the dead to an eternal place of resting, or so the living liked to hope. Tall oaks stood watch and curled their branches protectively around the aged estate. Nodding to the house he flipped the filter of his cigarette away and clamored up the wooden steps.

It took several knocks and jarring ones at that to get response from anyone inside. At last a loud grumbling could be heard from inside and the door sprung opened. The older boy at the door crumpled his brow in annoyance probably expecting some Halloween pranksters or trembling children holding their jack-o-lantern baskets out for candy so they could further rot their teeth. Instead when the resident within saw a familiar face his features lightened and he opened the door extending an invitation.

"I expect you're here to see my brother." Glen said as he shut the door buttoning it up tight from unwanted guests. On Halloween there were many trespassers on the estate the Calaways called home. Nothing drew more curiosity and double-dog dares than a mortuary on Halloween.

"Is he here?" The young man replied chewing his lip again, a habit entertained when his nerves threatened to consume him like a nest of writhing spiders.

"No. He's out somewhere probably consorting with witches or dancing with wayward spirits." Glen half-joked with a chuckle.

"Good. I mean, I'm glad he's not here."

Glen cocked his eyebrow suspiciously at the young man who had not so long ago been his older brothers' lover.

"I want you to help me with something."

"You're trying to win him back." Glen smirked.

"Halloween is our Valentines day. It's the anniversary of our love and I'm not going to let him forget. I love your brother and damn it I want him back."

As Jeff followed Glen to the basement he thought only of one thing, a heart carved into a tree, and a name forever carved into his own.

****

Mark scraped the thick black mud from his boots before dragging himself up the steps. He felt spent. A tug on his coat sent him rounding enraged at the children who disturbed him. His snarl sent them scattering among a symphony of screeches and giggles. He banged on the door further annoyed with his little brother for locking it.

Glen let him in and gave him an odd smile. Mark chose to ignore it and peeled away his shoes and started on his coat.

"Mark, wait a minute. Come here I have to show you something."

"Now is not the time Glen. I'm gonna go hole up in my room and hibernate until hell freezes over." Mark bit off and tossed his coat unceremoniously onto the floor. Glen pawed at his arm like a pestering puppy.

"Mark, come on!" He whined at his older sibling. Mark jerked his arm away and turned his bitter eyes to his brother. A few moments of gazing at his younger sibling softened the anger away to what was really underneath, a raw pain that made him want to break down weeping right then and there. Instead Mark steeled himself against the wave of hurt that threatened to crash down and drag him under, breaking his spirit against jagged rocks of despair and failed love. He sighed and as an echo the wind picked up and pressed against the house causing the windows to shudder and moan.

"Mark…" Glen pronounced his whine even more and at last his brother gave in. He followed sulkily behind his baby brother as he was led to the basement.

"Why are we going down here?" Mark grouched as he trailed Glen reluctantly down the creaking stairs. Glen didn't answer just stopped outside the door. The familiar smells of the chemicals of death pressed at the door seeping beneath the crack and through the wood grains.

"Well?" Mark asked waving his arms impatiently.

"Go in." Glen stated simply and ushered Mark towards the door. His older brother was now perplexed and raising an eyebrow at him in question, in attempt to figure him out, which always failed. "Just go!" Glen prodded.

Mark figured he was about to be the butt of some joke orchestrated by his conniving younger sibling. Despite his suspicions he nudged the door opened and walked in. If Glen was in fact plotting his embarrassment, or worse his gruesome and untimely death, Mark would at least have an excuse to pummel him later. If the later was true then that would give Mark an excuse to keep his little brother from ever sleeping again and terrorizing him with poltergeist activity and the most bad-ass haunting this side of the grave. Mark smirked and walked further, but stopped as his toe landed on something completely unexpected.

He picked it up and examined it as though a detective finding a clue. It was then that he noticed the sweet scent of roses mingling with that of the embalming fluids like a bittersweet perfume in itself a tribute to life and death. He ran his thumb over the soft silk of the rose petal and watched as it wept red like bloody tears onto his fingers.

He turned his palm and watched as the dainty, crushed, object drifted to the floor joining its brothers and sisters. If Glen had plotted a prank Mark was not sure what role rose petals would play in that. There must have been something more and his feet took him onward following the path of petals that littered the floor like deep crimson rubies.

The trail led to a table in the middle of the room where normally the body would be prepared. Atop this gurney was a casket winking a shiny black in the dimness. He ran his hand over the sleek wood wondering what was hidden inside. His wondering came to a halt when his fingers grazed over a rough patch. He leaned over the coffin and squinted into the shadows and found words carved into the rich top.

_Here lies Love. Like the soul of the dead it is not really deceased but just waits its chance to be born again, renewed. _

Mark jerked his hand away and with a gasp frightened at an unexpected rapping, a tapping at the inside of the lid. Unsure if he had really heard the slight prodding he stood back and waited, thinking a mouse had scuttled across the floor or his own imagination had conjured a hoax. A moment passed and he had just about written the noise off when it came again so soft and subtle.

He reached for the lid and sprung it open thinking to find one of Glen's dumb-ass friends inside ready with a can of silly string or something to spray him with. Instead what he saw nearly brought him to his knees and the feelings that had bottled inside came pouring out in a sob that shattered the darkness and tore at the heart of the one inside the coffin.

Griping the edge of the table Mark managed to push himself up, though his knees wobbled like water and threatened to give. His bleary eyes flashed over Jeff as he rested in the casket his arms curled over his chest like a vampire in sleep. His bleached blonde hair spread over the red silk lining and his face paint melted away as his own tears cascaded from his molten green eyes.

"Mark." Jeff managed to force out, the one word spoken strained and on the verge of being broken. His chest began to shudder with his silent weeping. Mark leaned over the casket and moved his mouth but words failed him. Jeff uncurled his arms and reached upwards twisting Marks shirt in his fists, demanding his presence. Mark climbed onto the table and into the coffin straddling Jeff as he laid there. He close his eyes and inhaled, his mind going dizzy and numb with the scent of formaldehyde, bloody roses, and the anxious sweat from the both of them. Jeff pulled him downwards and their lips crashed together drinking of each other like a parched mouths wanting for water. Their tongues like hungry snakes lashed out and tangled in their need. Their sighs and moans rose in a crescendo, a symphony of once withered love now burning a scorching flame.

Mark at last broke away his lips numb with swollen goodness. He watched the young man beneath him and saw the love that still glimmered in his eyes. Neither one had to say the words, both knew it to be true. One glance was all it took to see that reincarnation had taken place and a love that both had thought expired was birthed anew and fresh again.

Mark felt the tears slither down his face only now they were testament to his happiness rather than his grief. He peeled away his lovers' shirt, breath caught in his throat when he sighted the naked flesh.

In the middle of his chest a scar had formed carved into his flesh, an image mirroring the one just earlier that Mark had put to death. Jeff had cut a heart over his heart to remind them both of their love, born through pain and sustained through time and heeling.

MWC+JNH=Love


End file.
